An Unwelcoming City

Hector Henry hurried back from Boston the day after auditions ended. Without stopping to rest, he went straight into negotiations over the actors' fees and terms.

Everyone interested in the picture understood what it was meant to accomplish. They also knew the production couldn't pay lavish salaries. Most had already accepted the idea of working for less, and the negotiations moved astonishingly fast.

Jennifer Connelly's representative was the first to reach an agreement. Before the day was over, Nia had brought in her client and a lawyer. Jennifer signed a contract worth less than a million dollars.

Hector had prepared for something very different. Salary negotiations were supposed to be slow, exacting work. He had stayed up the previous night rehearsing arguments he never needed to make.

He had spent two years in the business and knew how the process usually went. An actor might be easy enough to persuade. The representatives behind that actor could spend two months arguing over what seemed like another penny.

And that was before the practical demands began. With a supporting or midlevel performer, the fee itself was often the easy part, provided the production held firm. It was the day-to-day treatment that could become a headache.

What class of hotel? What kind of room? How much for meals? A private trailer? A separate makeup trailer? Every detail had to be put into the agreement.

In Hector's experience, performers who had acquired a little status but hadn't quite broken through could be the most sensitive about these things. They weren't always comparing themselves with people at their own level. Many negotiated according to the level they believed they deserved.

The contracts generally got signed in the end. Getting there was the part that wore producers down.

With a genuine A-lister, it could take months. Those actors were scarce resources. Their agreements, like Evan's own, could run to hundreds of pages, as substantial as a book.

For now, stars still offered studios a powerful commercial argument. A major name could bring an audience with it, giving a film a base to build on. Studios tolerated high salaries and expensive participation deals because they expected the name to earn its cost back.

Evan remembered how that balance would become more contentious in the following decade. A film could generate enormous revenue while lucrative participation arrangements left its stars and director better rewarded than the company that had financed it. Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, and Steven Spielberg represented the kind of leverage studios had to reckon with.

Money was only part of the bargain. A contract could also encompass assistants, travel, accommodation, and an entire personal support operation. Each additional obligation meant another expense for the production to carry.

The later Pirates of the Caribbean films were an example of how far those packages could grow. Keeping a successful franchise's star could mean paying for an entourage as well as an enormous salary. Even pet care could become a production expense.

A personal entourage still required transport and rooms. Special arrangements still required someone to organize them. An apparently minor concession could become another department's daily responsibility.

Nor did an actor's warmth in public tell a producer what the contract would require. Audience appeal and the cost of sustaining a production were separate questions.

Not every star was difficult. The risk was that a production could become organized around one person's demands, leaving the director with less authority than the actor whose name sold the film.

That was one reason Evan rarely pursued major stars simply because he could afford them. Their benefits were obvious. The complications were harder to price in advance.

"Done already? Nice work."

Hector delivered the contracts to Evan's office just before the end of the day. The praise from his idol made him smile a little awkwardly.

He had spent half the afternoon realizing why the negotiations had gone so well. The answer was sitting across the desk. The actors wanted to get into Evan's movie before anything could go wrong. Hector's negotiating talent had very little to do with it.

"I've just spoken to Brad Pitt's agent. That sounds promising too. At this rate, we should have everyone signed and ready within two weeks."

He hesitated.

"There's just..."

Evan looked up from the agreement he was reading.

"If there's a problem, say so. Once we start shooting, that's where my attention goes. Bring it up now, or you'll be solving it yourself later."

"No, it's not that. I wanted to ask about Christian Bale. Should I negotiate his fee and conditions on the same basis as everyone else's?"

That question had been bothering Hector more than any of the others. Everyone knew Christian hadn't auditioned. Evan had chosen him personally for one of the leads.

Hector had also learned that the two men were close. Christian had known about this part since the end of Batman Begins and had been preparing for it instead of taking other offers.

This was Evan's production. Nothing significant happened without his approval. Who could know what special treatment he intended for a favorite actor?

Hector didn't want his first important assignment to end in an accidental insult. He thought of Tim Burton's recurring work with Johnny Depp. In his mind, Christian occupied a similar place in Evan's films.

"Negotiate the contract, Hector. That's your job."

The cautious expression told Evan what he needed to know.

"Use the same approach you use with Pitt and Nicholson. Your job is to keep the fees down, not to guess what secret arrangement I might want. Don't be afraid to do it. You're the producer handling this. Apart from me, nobody gets to second-guess your authority. Is that clear enough?"

Hector let out a long breath and nodded.

"Perfectly clear. I'll have everyone in and preparing within two weeks."

This was his first real test as a producer. Having Evan behind him made the work immeasurably easier. He needed to use the opportunity to learn, not merely coast on the director's influence.

If he did his job well, the project's prospects gave him a good chance of sharing in its success. He could return to Warner with a genuine producing credit and, eventually, a chance to lead other productions himself.

Most of those would not work like this one. On many studio films, the producer controlled the project and the director's authority was more restricted. Even the extent of the director's involvement in postproduction depended on the deal.

"Mr. Rosenberg... Sorry. Evan."

Hector relaxed in his chair.

"There's something else about Boston. From what I saw while scouting, our nonwhite crew members could face more hostility there than they do here. We need to warn everyone before we leave, especially the junior staff. Otherwise we could have trouble."

Of all the things he had dealt with while scouting and booking accommodations, that had stayed with him. It wasn't the economy or the living conditions. It was the racial hostility he had perceived there.

Evan put the signed contracts into the safe.

"Speak to Schwartz and Guillermo. Have them brief the department heads and tell them to keep their crews out of trouble."

He took the warning seriously. Boston's history of racism was not something a production could dismiss because it had permits and money to spend.

He thought of Bill Russell, a man whose achievements with the Celtics had not protected him from racist abuse. Athletic greatness and a city's pride in its team were no guarantee of decent treatment.

To Evan, that history made Hector's warning worth taking seriously. The crew was going there to work, and he didn't want local hostility disrupting the shoot.

They discussed the local arrangements for a few more minutes. Then Evan checked the time and brought their first substantial working conversation to an end. He was ready to go home.